Spring's Arrival

I wring my hands self-consciously.

“Keep your back straight” I tell myself.  I have a tendency to hunch my shoulders when feeling awkward.  I absolutely hate these situations.  I now seem to live in them permanently. “Where should I stand?”  “What should I be doing?”  “Should I even be here or would it be better for everyone if I left?”

I smile and nod at the other guests, trying not to look pathetic. The last thing I want is to be pitied by them.

 I look around for something to do; if I am useful then I might feel as though I belong.  The children are ordinarily my chief duty, and they are playing noisily in the room adjacent. The parents have to raise their voices to be heard over the clatter of toys and the shrieks of excitement. I walk unseen past the chatting guests to go see if I can help the children in some way.  I admire the girls’ drawings and help the boys get the toy cars down from the cupboard.  They aren’t interested in me however, and I don’t want to make the parents feel like I am the hired help.  Tonight I have been invited to the dinner party as a guest.

Rejoining the adults, I am offered champagne and hors de oeuvres.  I certainly am being cultivated in the finer things in life.

I try to make small talk with the guests; the language barrier an added strain. I manage to converse haltingly on the topics of weather and occupations.  This is what basic language courses prepare you for.  It is the more in-depth conversations of politics and the humorous anecdotes where I lose my way and find myself like Alice at the tea party: bewildered yet trying desperately to make sense of it all.

Dinner was served: oxfile with red wine reduction, Italian salad leaves and pureed cauliflower.  Eating now kept me preoccupied and out of forced conversations about the weather and life in South Africa.

Usually, my initial instinct is to avoid these situations at all costs.  It certainly was the easier route to take.  I had half thought of making up an excuse for tonight - that I had an engagement and would be out - when really I would be wandering around the city, feeling lonely and pitiful. 

Now, as I sit around the table with the hum of conversation surrounding me, I look out the window and see the last traces of winter disappearing and small bright buds appearing on the walnut tree.  I am proud of myself for choosing to come.  The drab, brown grass will soon be a brilliant green after the snow melts.  Spring always made the winter worth it.

I sip my wine and cut into the tenderest of ox fillets, I feel a glint of contentment. This small town farm girl is far from her expected life.  I had faced some heartache, leaving my home and all that was familiar, and for weeks now I had felt like it had been a mistake. But, I was exactly where I wanted to be.  I had taken a giant leap out of my comfort zone and that is why I had come: to experience life in a different way, to be challenged, to grow, to be cultivated, to meet new people, to see myself more clearly and learn to be adaptable. It dawned on me that I had had to make it through the winter in order to experience my own spring.

 I listen to the conversation around the table with half an ear; the language is slowly but surely becoming familiar. I feel a flicker of kinship with my host family who catch my eye and smile at me from across the table.  My own Spring is budding. My seemingly dead branches of loneliness are blossoming into confidence and although painful at first, the beauty is worth the risk.